Chapter Five

Nothing from Draco. Nothing from Granger.

Make tea. Eat food. Go through the post. Read a book. Take a nap.

Still nothing from Draco. Still no sign of Granger.

Why the hell did Granger continue to drop his post through the mail slot? Would it be too difficult to come in for five minutes and drink a cup of his damned tea? He'd even deign to eat one of her bilious-looking biscuits as long as she was there, in his kitchen, watching him choke it down.

Well, he wasn't going to pine. He knew she'd never abandon him, and so he'd keep receiving his post, and she'd continue to either shuffle him off for his errands and appointments in Diagon Alley or ask one of her clodpole friends to do it. But he wasn't going to sit here and wait for her to appear, gazing out the window to catch sight of her like some lovesick schoolboy. She'd come back to him or she wouldn't.

He decided to take a walk instead. To some, it wouldn't appear to be a very promising first step, but Snape knew different. He'd never felt lonely with Hermione as his company, and so he'd never realized that between one day and the next, between one laboured breath and the next, he'd become a recluse. He'd refused to leave the safety of his Notice-Me-Not Charmed house without the company of a trustworthy witch or wizard or Potter, and Granger was the only person with whom he bothered to converse socially. He had no friends other than her; just a handful of children with whom he shared history.

And so, he dressed in his battered denims and the lumpy jumper with leather elbow patches that Hermione had knitted him for Christmas last year. It was Gryffindor red, and he'd been surprised that he liked it as much as he did. He then wrapped up in his cashmere scarf and heavy woolen jacket and took a walk.

Fuck, it was cold. But it was lovely, too. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets and watched suburbia unfurl before him, one step at a time. There was a barren beauty to the trees. The wind blew, and the dark, dry limbs clacked together with a noise like teeth chattering. Snape pushed his nose deeper in his scarf and kept going, past houses and a school and a little country church. He walked until the pavement was no longer poured concrete, but brick, and he found himself in the center of Hermione's quaint country town.

The cold was causing his chest to tighten uncomfortably, so he ducked into the public library to warm up. He loosened his scarf and looked around the one-floor building. It was charming, with exposed red brick and ancient, muted hardwood floors. The bookshelves were sturdy oak and stretched nearly all the way up to the ten foot ceiling, but they were horribly dusty, and Snape was appalled to see books just sitting out. Loose. Unshelved! How uncivilized.

He tucked two orphan books beneath his arm and walked to the shelving cart situated by the check out desk. He placed them neatly on the shelf, ensuring their spines were out and their covers were not bent. Three others books sat abandoned on a study table. Some careless Neanderthal had left one open, putting strain on the binding. Snape tutted and closed it, taking a moment to examine the spine before sliding it onto the shelving cart with the others. He squinted, and then took a brief moment to group the books by their categories.

Satisfied, he nodded and turned around, nearly running headfirst into a blonde-haired woman in cat's eye glasses standing behind him.

"Merlin!" he hissed, holding a hand up to his sputtering, clenching heart.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" She reached out to pat him on the shoulder, but then pulled back, looking helpless. She wore a white plaster cast on her left arm and curled in her right were three books. "Lord, I nearly added insult to injury there."

Snape held his hand up, as he breathed deeply and waited for his heart to calm. "No, it's all right."

"You're quite pale. Do you need to sit down? A drink of water perhaps?" She pulled a chair out from beneath a reading table and ushered him into it. He could smell her lavender perfume, as she bent over to look in his face. She wore a sensible librarianish cardigan over a green dress covered in small print sunglasses.

"No, no. I'm fine. I just need to catch my breath, please." He sat and put his hands on his knees and fought to quell the roiling nausea. He loosened his scarf. Swallowing after a moment, he looked up to see her watching him with a worried, pursed look on her face. "I'm all right now."

"Oh, thank goodness!" The words rushed out of her. "I didn't mean to give you a fright. I was behind in my shelving because of… you know," she waved her cast dangerously, "and I was shocked to see someone helping out. I had to come investigate. Oh, but I'm glad you're all right."

Snape felt a glimmer of amusement tempered by annoyance at her prattling. "As am I, believe me."

She pulled another chair out and sank into it herself. "Do you mind if I sit here with you for a moment?"

He shrugged. "It's of no matter to me." He focused on his pulse, feeling it in his chest, his fingertips. "Just let me have another moment." His eyelids slid shut.

Finally, he sighed and opened his eyes to find the blonde librarian watching him with her head cocked. Her chin was propped on the fingers sticking out of her cast. "That's an awfully big scar on your neck," she said.

Snape's hand flew to his neck. He'd forgotten about it when he'd loosened his scarf earlier, and now he felt exposed. He was very conscious of the cold air curling against his bare skin.

"I've noticed," she spoke again, the overhead lights glinting on her glasses. Her green eyes were wide and guileless, and seemed to take in every inch of him. "I've noticed that people with scars like that either have very interesting stories they want to tell about them, or don't want to talk about them at all." Her head cocked the other direction. "Which are you?"

"The latter."

She nodded. "I also couldn't help but notice you were fondling my books."

"Taking proper care of a book hardly constitutes fondling."

"You were holding them so lovingly," she said.

Snape examined her, unsure if she was taking the piss. She was in her thirties perhaps, but lacked shadows in her eyes and fine lines that indicated someone who'd lived through something unspeakable. He shook his head. "Did you want to finish this yourself?" He proffered the books.

"Not really," she sighed, but took them anyway. "It takes me forever to clean up after the little heathens that come tearing through here with hands covered in chocolate and bogies." She smiled and offered her right hand. "I'm Lara Barde. I'm the librarian here."

"Severus Snape." Her fingers were slender and warm, but he couldn't help but compare them to Hermione's work-chapped hands. He dropped the handshake, uncomfortable. "It was never fondling, but I am terribly fond of books," he offered finally.

Ms. Barde laughed, and Severus felt a warmth kindle in his chest. She had a small chip in her front tooth that was charming. She crossed her arms over her chest and said, smiling, "That's a fine line, Mr. Snape. I know, also being terribly fond of books."

She walked up to the circulation desk, and he noticed a small sign advertising, "Short Term Help Wanted." He was immediately taken by the idea. It was, quite honestly, brilliant. It'd get him out of the house and provide him with a little human interaction since Granger had temporarily scarpered off, frightened by what had nearly happened in her kitchen. Plus it would bring in a little money so he could pay a bit toward rent and for his expenses. He'd feel like less of burden, a leech. And the short nature of the assignment would allow him to assess whether or not his health would allow him to work long term.

She narrowed her eyes at his obvious interest, looking like nothing so much as a myopic fox. "You don't happen to be looking for a poorly paying job, are you?" She gestured to the sign. "It's a temporary placement for six weeks. That's how long before the cast comes off, and I'm back up and running."

Feeling as if he was taking a momentous step, which perhaps he was, he said, "You know, it just so happens that I am."

"Thank god. I could really use the help."


On Friday, he'd still not heard from Draco.

He'd decided he'd still go to the Laughing Griffin and wait for his godson, because it was just like the little shite to show up without a how-do-you-do. Thursday, he'd shoved a note through Hermione's mail slot, asking if she could arrange an Apparition for him for the next day, or if he could use her Floo.

He hadn't heard from her either, but it was still early, and Snape believed that no matter what was happening between them, she was constitutionally incapable of letting someone down. So, he waited and hoped.

At eleven o'clock sharp, she knocked on his door. He opened it to see her holding a plate of biscuits with white knuckled fingers. Her smile was more of a grimace.

Snape sighed and stepped back, allowing her to walk past him into the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked.

"No, thanks," she said. He thought she sounded nervous. "Butter biscuit? No dye in these."

"No, thank you."

Silence was a heartbeat between them. "Maybe I will take a cup," Hermione said finally.

Snape nodded and put the kettle on. He pulled out a box of tea flowers when she said to his back, "So, I was a bit of coward the other day, wasn't I?"

He fussed with the packaging so he didn't have to turn and look at her. "I have always found emotions more messy and frightening than nearly anything else I've faced." He shrugged. "It was just a small cowardice." Snape didn't want to give in to his own cowardice, so he turned back and sat down next to her at the kitchen table. He could smell her shampoo from a foot away. She looked beautiful in a soft red cashmere sweater and denims. He was terrified. "It stung me more that you denied our friendship this last week."

Her head jerked up. "Never! Never ever think that. I was so confused after Viktor and I… I didn't want to inflict that on you." She cleared her throat before reaching over and touching his hand. "I fancy the pants off you."

"You fancy…" Snape watched her face flush bright red, and she covered her mouth with both hands and nodded. His heart began to beat very hard, and for the first time in ages it wasn't from illness. He wondered how to get her hands away from her lips so he might kiss her mouth.

He reached out with a shaking hand to touch a curl that fell from her temple, but she pulled away, standing up to fuss with the kettle instead. Hermione removed it from the burner as it started to whistle, but ignored the tea things, choosing instead to turn back to him. "You and I have a… complicated relationship, Severus. We're woven together, you and I."

He was a man and couldn't help it. He immediately pictured them woven together naked. But he knew what she meant. "You are saying that we are interdependent."

"To an unhealthy extent, yes. Or rather, it would be an unhealthy basis for a relationship between us. You are my patient."

"You are my healer-in-training, Hermione." He did his best to sound like an adult and not a teenaged boy trying to get a leg over his girl.

"You are reliant on me for funds," she said.

"I've just today gotten a job at the library in town."

She looked surprised. "You did? Oh, that's marvelous! Congratulations." She reached out and rubbed his shoulder, but bit her lip. "There is one more thing, of course. It's my fault… your health issues. I broke your magic and damaged your heart with my ignorance. I can't help but feel that to get involved with you would be… taking advantage." A tear tracked down her cheek.

He pulled away from Hermione. Ah, there was the crux. No, he didn't agree with all of that bullocks about how she'd damaged him. She'd saved him. He'd meant it when he told her that. "That's not the real impediment. Not for me, at least. But there is something…" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "You cannot hear me when I say that I am all right… that I'm doing better than I have in decades. Your guilt sours… everything that could be between us. It chokes me."

She flinched and turned pale. "I can't help how I feel."

He stood and curled his fingers around the nape of her neck. He pulled her toward him and kissed her forehead. "Neither can I. Maybe when we've both… healed more." He didn't release her.

She nodded.

"Your shampoo smells nice despite the dubious Muggle chemicals involved in its production," he said.

Hermione either choked or chuckled, but either way she was smiling when she pulled away from him, despite the tear tracks on her cheeks. "Thanks, Snape. You're a peach."

He smiled back at her, knowing she was right about them, about everything, but his heart still hurt. "So, can you take me to the Laughing Griffin? I am trying to take care of that little problem from earlier in the week."

"You're meeting Draco? Did you want me to go with you? If he tries anything…"

"I don't. Neither do I want you hanging about outside after you drop me off."

"But…"

"No. You won't gainsay me on this, Granger."

She stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "All right."